


Only Madness

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [48]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, M/M, Pining, Writing Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 12:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14894810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: He’s not sure of much these days, when it comes to the future. The only thing he’s got his heart set on is Steve.





	Only Madness

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I've seen you painted in the sunsets gold. I've watched the moonlight spread its love over your delicate skin. I've seen you walk down the street and shake the sidewalks harder than the subway beneath. You have me weak in the knees ready to admit all of my defeat. Like the leaves leaving the autumn trees, I'm falling… Prompt from this [generator](http://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

He writes the first lines on the back of a napkin that’s left over from lunch, one that somehow got stuffed in his pocket. It’s a habit Nat got him into, years ago; she always said he was a sloppy eater, which knowing young and dumb him, he probably was. He has table manners now, knows which fork to use and everything, but the knee jerk reaction’s still there, the one that tells him he’d better grab some extra napkins just in case.

He wonders what Nat would think of him now: a grown man with most of his shit together who’s stupid with one-way love. The love part, he thinks, she’d be ok with, wouldn’t mock him too much; but the unrequited part, the idea of expending so much emotion towards someone who doesn’t look at him that way, who knows him well enough to have a beer but not enough to know that he’d rather have whiskey, that he’d rather spend the evening in a back booth with his hands in this person’s hair, theirs spread big and hot on his thighs, than standing at the bar glad-handing with the other assholes from work--that part, she’d have his head for.

 _Don’t go where you’re not wanted_ , she’d say. _On that path lies only madness_.

He’s been tangled in this crush for six months and damn if he doesn’t know that’s right. Doesn’t stop his fool heart from yearning, though, doesn’t stop it from tap dancing every time he passes Steve in the hall or sits next to him at a meeting or gets an email from him; perfunctory, Steve’s words are. Right to the point.

Bucky’s words have never been like that. Precise. Laser focused on clarity. It’s a good quality for a poet, the textual meandering he favors. Less great for a development manager, for someone whose whole job is to say the right thing at the right time to exactly the right person. But he’s learned how to fake it, all the way up to within spitting distance of a VP slot. Three years, maybe five, and he might get there. He’s not sure if that’s what he wants. He’s not sure of much these days, when it comes to the future. The only thing he’s got his heart set on is Steve.

Steve’s everybody’s favorite. Their donors adore him, the staff fall at his feet, and the general public knows who he is, recognizes him, which is no small feat. Presidents of non-profit organizations are a dime a dozen in DC; shakes a tree on Constitution Avenue and three will fall at your feet. Most of them are anonymous, except to the people who they think matter--a handful of lawmakers, a few huge corporate donors, a key celebrity--and they like it that way. But Steve’s different, has been from day one. Didn’t hurt that he was 30 years younger than the foundation’s last leader, that he was old Hollywood handsome,  that he’d been handpicked to lead them by Mr. Stark the younger himself. But what really sold everybody was that he was a good person, genuinely thoughtful and kind--not just with people who could give them money but with the people he worked with, too. And that’s how he always put it: he worked _with_ the staff, they didn’t work for him, and in a town where big egos were de rigueur, it’d had made for a pretty big change.

And he liked Bucky’s work, had made a point that first week of scheduling a time for them to meet, which had flabbergasted Bucky. Their old boss, Mr. Fury, had never bothered to check anybody’s Outlook calendar or called up their admin to see if they were free; no, he’d just stormed in whenever the mood struck him, everybody else’s deadlines and work flow be damned. Steve, though, he’d done both: looked at Bucky’s Outlook and then called his assistant, Wanda, to formally set up a time and a date.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I miss my old town of DC this week.


End file.
